


Sacrilege

by amelie_drinking_tea



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Catholic Guilt, First Time Blow Jobs, Guilt, M/M, Masturbation, Religious Conflict, Religious Guilt, Resolved Sexual Tension, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 21:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1484506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amelie_drinking_tea/pseuds/amelie_drinking_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I remember being told about sin at a very early age. And asking for forgiveness, sin after sin after sin… Being ten, twelve, then sixteen in a catholic family. What a treat.<br/>I wanted him. I wanted him more than anything. But I didn’t want to disappoint God, for I was grateful. I went to Sunday school, you see. You know what they teach you at Sunday school? You’re not supposed to touch yourself.<br/>Well, fuck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sacrilege

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AHaresBreath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHaresBreath/gifts).



Is God even real? I mean, shouldn’t I be in flames right now if he were? Every time I try to pray to the almighty invisible force hovering over my head, my mind wanders on, earthly thoughts, sinful truth. My mouth starts moving along with the sweetly rehearsed words from my childhood. Oh, the wonderful places it goes to while I sing hymns of adoration to myself.

I haven’t sung to myself in a while, to be honest.

I’m not singing to God either. For my faith is shattered now, though it’s still there, somewhere.

Late at night, even when I try to reach that comfort zone from years ago, it’s never like before. I can’t get there anymore. Well, I can get _there_. Just not to our Lord and saviour and his army of caring angels and shit.

Sure I’d love to get that feeling of certainty back.

I remember being told about sin at a very early age. And asking for forgiveness, sin after sin after sin… Being ten, twelve, then sixteen in a catholic family. What a treat.

I wanted him. I wanted him more than anything. But I didn’t want to disappoint God, for I was grateful. I went to Sunday school, you see. You know what they teach you at Sunday school? You’re not supposed to touch yourself.

Well, fuck.

All I could think was “I’m going to be punished, one way or another.”

Then those fucking lips happened. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t help myself but sin every fucking night for around six months in the dark realms of my room. He was there, sitting across me in the church hall, smirking as if he knew better than us that that was all bollocks. As if God would give a damn about what you did to yourself alone in your bedroom after hours.

He wouldn’t say anything, though. He wasn’t a trouble maker. But he knew, just by looking at me. His eyes would meticulously scan every inch of my body and he would silently tell me "I know what you've been doing."

A mate from school once told me I was fucking hot. I laughed and snorted. I’d never thought about that sort of thing. Then every Sunday after that, I’d wonder if he thought I was hot too. I’d think about that in line for confession.

Does anyone actually confess their darkest secrets in church? Like, does anyone actually have the guts? The lads had a deal. Make it simple. I swore a lot. I fought with my mum. I lied to my dad. I skipped class to smoke. Ten Hail Marys, five Holy Fathers. You’re good to go.

He’d raise his eyes from prayer and smile at me every time I left the confessionary. He’d always go before me, so when I left it to pay my penance I’d have to face him on his knees, faking regret with the others. He’d tell me with his mischievous dark blue eyes “I know, and God knows as well.”

We weren’t even friends.

Though every time we had to pick a partner in Bible study, he’d find a way to magically appear by my side, so I’d have no choice but ask him “What do you think John is trying to teach us here?”

“I think he’s trying to tell us there’s no good in doubting the inevitable.” He’d say.

I’d take a deep breath, nodding in agreement. He'd show it to me, taking the holy book from my hands, brushing his fingers through mine, and I'd fight with all my strength not to flinch, not to give him a reason to grin in understanding.

Then there was this class in which our priest was talking about how God tested Abraham’s faith.

“You’re still young and naïve, but there’ll come a time when you’ll feel that the Lord is giving you more than you can handle.”

Well, I was feeling it right then. Right in my fucking pants, that is. He’d give me these looks, which at first, I thought were just a figment of my imagination, but then he’d lick his lips when he knew I was staring. He never stared back, not even once. He just smiled to himself, subtly, bit his bottom lip, played with the fabric of his uniform trousers, dragging his fingers through his thighs. He’d do all that as naturally as one can breathe.

I was going mad with want. How could he be so fearless of God’s wrath? I mean, of course, I wasn’t a complete saint, but I did believe that was inappropriate behavior in church and I did believe divine punishment was coming , especially for horny teenage boys such as myself.

I had faith back then. Faith in the laws of Catholicism.

Then one particularly hot Sunday afternoon, Monsignor Gaius caught a couple of blokes with a dirty magazine. And hell broke loose. He was so fucking mad with our disrespect that he made all of us, even the ones who had had nothing to do with it, clean the adjoining premises, Bible study rooms, the church kitchen, the stockroom, the bathrooms, even the communion room, which we weren't even allowed to enter.

My mate Leon and I were assigned the stockroom, but apparently, that was too much of a nice thing to happen to me for once. So as I was gladly accepting my fate (because, really, doing some cleaning was nothing compared to holding back a boner during mass), we heard the Monsignor shout from afar.

"Mr. Leon! The stockroom is too much of a petty penance for you. If you believe lascivious thoughts in this holy ground are something not to be taken seriously, a couple of hours of hard labour might change your mind. You, Mr. Gwaine and Mr. Elyan will mow the lawns. Including the one from the monastery."

Leon sighed, swearing under his breath.

“Ok”, I thought, “no problem”. I didn't mind cleaning it on my own, it's not like the stockroom was very big anyway. I wasn't even angry about being punished for something I had no part on. Deep down, I sort of knew I deserved to be punished for other things.

"Mr. Emrys will help you with your task." The Monsignor looked at me starkly, before leaving, followed by Leon.

Alright, God. I understand what you’re doing. I’m being tested like Abraham. I must endure it, I must trust you know what’s best for me. I must give in to your commands, of acceptance, of sacrifice, of resignation.

At least till I get home. Then I can give myself a sprained wrist, just for the hell of it.

“Do you believe in the Old Testament God?” He asked me, dusting some boxes on the top shelf. Why do churches need a stockroom anyway?

“What do you mean?”

“I mean vengeful, spiteful, ‘I will kill your whole family if you eat ham’ Old Testament God. Do you think that’s the way He really is?”

“I don’t even know if God’s a ‘he’, really.” I answered, earnestly.

He turned to me, looking pleased as no one should while in church.

“That’s why I like you. You don’t just - swallow everything they say.”

Fuck me if I knew why I winced at the fucking way he pronounced the word ‘swallow’. Like, seriously? I’m better that! Ok. Ok. Breathe. You’re being tested. Take your filthy mind out of the gutter for a second. Say absolutely nothing compromising.

“I do believe we’re born sinners, though. I believe certain behaviors are wrong and should be avoided.”

That’s when he moved closer. He leaned against one of the file shelves I was trying to organize, grinning like a motherfucker, hands in his pockets. I pretended I hadn’t noticed how close he’d got.

“You pray after masturbating, don’t you?”

“What?”

“You ask for forgiveness every time a dirty thought crosses your mind… So I figured… That’s what you do after wanking?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Come on, we have work to do.”

He’d laugh, then, almost innocently. Almost a giggle. Getting so close I only realized I’d been holding my breath when he slid a hand through my belly.

“I see you watching me.”

“I don’t watch you.”

“Well, I do watch you sometimes. I used to watch you assisting the Monsignor during mass. You always looked so pure, a perfect angel, not even one unholy thought in that pretty head of yours.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You know what I’d think about, then?”

“I don’t want to know.”

He pouted. I was frozen. It was like someone’d send him directly from the depths of hell to torment me. He was my test.

“I’d think about getting on my knees and sucking you off.”

I pressed my lips together. What was he, the bloody devil himself? I felt my face going red with anger, and shame, and guilt. How could I scold him if I had the same disgusting feelings whenever he entered the room?

“You think I should ask God for forgiveness, Arthur?”

“Y-yes.”

“Do you think He listens?”

“I know He does.”

“Do you think He cares?” He’d drag his hand down an inch. “Do you really think He’d care if I sucked you dry?”

“Stop saying these things…” I managed to let out a cry, between gasps.

“I will if you are honest with me.”

“I- I don’t know! But I know it’s a sin!”

“Yeah, I think we settled that.” I felt his breath on my neck, his legs touching mine, his hands working their way down on me.

“God…”

Once when I was around thirteen, I fell asleep during Christmas mass. It was almost midnight and I was tired as shit. My father beat the crap out of me when we got home, then he said those were the moments I had to be most ashamed of myself. The moments in which I knew for certain God was watching and I’d still screw up! It’s easy to forget you’re being judged on a daily basis, he said, so it’s more acceptable to commit a sin. But when you’re in fucking church, Arthur! During mass! What’s your excuse, then?

Well, what’s my excuse now? What’s the sodding rational explanation for my inconvenient boner right now? I was deeply ashamed by everything he was saying, and we were technically in church premises, weren’t we?

“We shouldn’t do this here.”

“Should we do it somewhere else?”

“No! We shouldn’t do it anywhere.”

I felt his hand touching me, caressing me, and I closed my eyes, feeling distressed.

“Why don’t you go away, then? Why don’t you move my hand away?”

Why indeed?

“Aren’t you scared of being punished?” I asked him, as he made his movements more vigorous. I let out a moan, helplessly.

“We were born in sin, you have said it so yourself. We’re getting punished anyway.” He’d take my hand and make me feel his state. He was as fucking horny as I was. “See? I’m sinning with you.”

I wanted to move my hand, but I was terrified. So he’d move his whole body towards me, just to feel me against him. And I lost track of everything.

“Can I suck it, please?” He whispered in my ear, sounding a little desperate for the first time.

“No...” I was about to come in my pants if he kept talking, and it sounded so wrong, being aroused like that by mere words of sacrilege, so wrong I wanted to grab his arse and kiss him hard and never ask for forgiveness again.

“Tell me you don’t want it. If you say you don’t want it, I’ll personally ask God to forgive both of us…”

So wrong it felt like I had to do it.

So I did.

He let out a strained surprised moan, unzipping me as he let me kiss him awkwardly, and all I fucking wanted was to make him stop talking.

Next thing I know, he’s on his knees.

Next thing I know, I’m trying to keep myself from falling on my knees as well, for slightly different reasons.

“Arthur” He asks, holding my cock in one hand, “does it feel wrong?”

“Very.” I whisper, trying to get a grip on anything which will keep me from falling.

He starts pumping it. I try to muffle any possible sound. I hear the church’s bells outside, reminding me there’s probably an angel weeping in heaven right now, weeping over my soul’s damnation.

I feel a wet mouth on my left thigh. It traces a line through my hipbone.

It burns in ways only hell could.

“Am I allowed to?” He smirks, getting closer and closer to the point of no return.

I try not to look at him, but his hellish golden eyes drag me to him and I moan, getting tense.

“Am I allowed to, altar boy?” He inquires again.

“Fuck.”

“Say it.”

“W-what do you want me to say?”

“Say you want to sin.”

I’m so fucking hard I can’t even move without it hurting. He holds me in place, his grip getting tighter on my hips. I’ve never felt this desperate before. He grins, and I’m more than certain now that he’s some evil spirit, coming directly from Jude’s Gospels, binding me in darkness with everlasting chains.

“I want to sin.”

I feel his tongue on me. I feel his mouth wrapped around me. I feel the goodness in me, or at least my attempts of being good vanishing in his warmth. I groan because God has forsaken me, has left me panting before His morning star, has left me drowning in the depths of its inferior glory.

And I am so fucking far from disappointed.

I hear his own moans and they pierce right through me and I’m getting so close, I’m so bloody aroused, buried in guilt, blind with confusion, lost and begging for His mercy and His negligence, for I wanted both.

And I have no idea for how long I was able to bear all those conflicting thoughts, because I was surrounded by blissful darkness the whole time. Stepping away from His light and feeling fucking good about it.

“Oh – God!” I moaned, coming in his mouth, finally ruining my every chance of redemption.

“You think He listened?” He was breathless, still on his knees.

He never got an answer. I never got an answer.

Is this ‘church God’ even real? I still ask myself. Because something was fucking real then, and I don’t want to believe it was the guilt and regret.

I just shook my head and he smiled.

Knowledge will really screw everything up.

Breaking free from heaven, and fuck, never looking back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a gift to AHaresBreath, inspired by her awesome drawing, check it out:  
> http://merlin-art-fest.livejournal.com/35272.html


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